


Ghosts

by SandrC



Series: I Wish to Lodge a Complaint [6]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst? Angst., Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, That episode had me fucked UP, hard yikes, spoilers for Episode 28
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 10:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: She remembers being younger, feet kicking back and forth as she read the Harry Potter series for the umpteenth time. How Harry lost Sirius, his parents, Dobby, Dumbledore, Moody, and so many others. How he raged and wondered, if there were ghosts and talking portraits and so many other things to allow the dead to interact with the living, why none of them had come to talk to him.She remembers thinking she understood his grief.She didn't.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> All who have been personally victimized by one or more of the McElroys, raise your hands. Everyone? Cool.
> 
> Goddamn but episode 28 made a goddamn weeping mess of me. Like, I know angst. I am self-titled as goddamn Regis of Angst! But oof. Bare-knuckled cold-cocked right in my feels-meat. I'm still reeling.
> 
> I also haven't relistened to it. I usually burn through it a couple times but —
> 
> It got me good and I'm not certain I can try that again until we have closure?
> 
> Idk.
> 
> This is why I fucking love Clint "Internet Dad" McElroy. Coz he can do me like this. Same with Griffin. And Travis, with Aubrey. And Justin and Duck.
> 
> But this is about Ned and Aubrey and grief.
> 
> And it's sad.
> 
> Sorry y'all. It's a coping thing.
> 
> (It'll get better though. Have faith. We can make it.)

Grief is an unholy and terrifying monster that Aubrey's wrestled with since she was eighteen. It never gets easier to fight. Never gets easier to ignore. It sets its claws and fangs deep into her chest and screams until her ears ring.

_She had told him to run._

It wasn't _fair_.

Moira, for all she can, looks sorry, sad, worried. She looks like she feels loss too but Aubrey just wants to scream, to howl, to set the world ablaze again _again **again—!**_

 _You don't get to look like that,_ she wants to spit, venom laced, at one of the few fucking people who had absolutely nothing to do with this. _You died and stayed around. You don't get to **pity** me!_ But that wasn't fair. She clamps her mouth around those words.

_She had called him a liar._

That was the _last_ thing she said to him.

It wasn't _fucking fair._

Sheriff Owens, for what it's worth, is herding the remaining crowd away from the Gate, face grim as death ( _ha_ ). The pistol on his hip is holstered, she watched him click the safety on with a distant, watery fear in her chest. His face reads _I'm sorry I'm so, **so** sorry_. His eyes say _**no one** should have to deal with this_. His body screams _this **isn't** your fault, you did **all** you could._

She _didn't_ though.

She had brought back Dewey, _hadn't she?!_ Why couldn't she do the same for him? For one of the few fucking people she gave a proper rat's ass about?!

Why had she wasted her luck, her skill, her magic on something as fucking _dumb_ as saving the dead deputy of a town she'd only now begun to love instead of the man—liar faker robber monster friend father-figure—who saved her ass on multiple occassions?

( _Because_ , the grief hisses, _you told him you **hated** him. You told him to **run**. You **wanted** this, and your magic only does **what you want**_.)

 _It wasn't fucking fair_.

Pigeon looks a million miles away. The darkest part of her laughs at this, smiles, _sneers_ even. _This is what you get. Trigger-happy **fucking** mob mentality. I **tried**_ , she justifies the clawing bleeding _fucking terrified_ screaming in her ribcage, _but you just fucking panicked. **You fired at him**. Your fault your fault **your fault your fault.**_

But that's not fair and she _knows_ it.

This whole fucking _scene_ isn't fucking _fair_.

She remembers being younger, feet kicking back and forth as she read the _Harry Potter_ series for the _umpteenth_ time. How Harry lost Sirius, his parents, Dobby, Dumbledore, Moody, and _so many others_. How he _raged_ and wondered, if there were ghosts and talking portraits and so many other things to allow the dead to interact with the living, why _none of them_ had come to talk to _him_.

She remembers thinking she understood his grief.

She _didn't_.

She does _now_ though.

And it's _all her fault_.

Her words.

Her actions.

— _or lack, thereof_.

And he's _not_ a ghost.

He's _not_ in some magic fucking portrait where he can make snide fucking comments whenever they walk by.

He _sure as shit_ isn't _alive_.

And the grief—

—the child—

—the monster—

—the prison—

—the survivor—

— _screams_.


End file.
